Sorrow and Joy
by Umbrae Lucis
Summary: One summer in Lothlorien, Haldir bullies Elrohir for being half-elven. Angsty sappy Peredhil family fic, featuring lots of ElrondCelebrian. Chapter 4 up.
1. Default Chapter

**Sorrow and Joy**

**Disclaimers:** There all mine … mine I tell you … Well, only in the twisted world which is my mind. Otherwise, they belong to Tolkien, his heirs, and New Line Cinema.

**Summary:** Haldir bullies Elrohir one summer in Lothlorien. Angsty sappy Peredhil family fic, featuring lots of Elrond/Celebrian. 

**Rating:** PG-13 because Elrond and Celebrian get a little frisky with each other *smirks*

**A/N:** Elrohir is the equivalent of about eight, Haldir is the equivalent of about thirteen. This is set before Arwen's birth, early in the Third Age.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Elrohir tried to break his tormentor's grip in his shoulders, struggling against the strong hands which pinned him to the mallorn.

"Let go of me," he spat, twisting frantically.

"Or what?" sneered Haldir. "What could you possibly do to me, little one?"

"I'm not little," Elrohir replied, fighting back tears.

The silver-haired Elf raised one sardonic eyebrow. Unfortunately for the younger elfling, Haldir was right. Elrohir was small for his age, with the delicate fragility of his mother. While Elladan ran amok outside, wrestling ferociously in the mud, Elrohir, separated from his twin, would simply curl up into a corner with a book from Elrond's extensive library. Haldir could not resist such an easy target.

He released the younger elfling with such speed that Elrohir's head cracked against the tree trunk.

Hauling himself upright, clutching at his aching head, Elrohir stuttered, "Ada s-says that brute force is never moral j-justification, and that no E-Elf should use his own st-strength to int…int … to make others do what he wants."

He stared defiantly at Haldir.

"Oh, you do know such long words, do you not, little half-wit?" Haldir laughed cruelly. "Tell me, what would you or your half-breed father know about what an elf should do?"

"Ada _is _an elf. He is a great elf-lord who fought alongside King Gil-galad," Elrohir answered stubbornly, lifting his chin to glare into the eyes of the older boy."

"Oh … your precious ada is a Noldor lackey, and related to Turin who married his own _sister_. I must repair at once to give my humble obeisance to the poor _orphan_ whose own parents sailed West to escape him."

"They d-didn't," yelled the Peredhel, stepping forward with his hands balled into tight fists. "Anyway, he is p-powerful and good. Luthien Tinuviel was his great-grandmother."

There was no small degree of pride in his voice.

"Well, let us see if the power of the Nightingale can protect her halfling descendants."

With a fluid motion of one elegant leg, Haldir kicked out and swept the younger boy's feet out from under him.

Holding the winded child to the ground with one hand, he gripped a sensitive ear-tip between the fingers of the other. Leaning close, he whispered, "It would seem not. Now what will you do, half-breed? Will you cry to your parents? You dare not, worthless Peredhel. You know you dare not."

"What are you doing to my brother?" a shrill voice piped. Elrohir sighed with relief when Elladan's anxious face appeared over Haldir's shoulder, his cheeks smudged with mud and his braids loosened and tangled.

"We were playing a game, were we not, Elrohir?" the older boy said in a deceptively honeyed voice. Unbeknownst to Elladan, he tightened his grip on the younger boy's ear until a small trickle of blood began to flow.

The Peredhel plastered a grin across his face.

"Yes. It's been so much fun," he answered brightly, although he heard the catch of tears in his singsong lilt. As the Lorien Elf's grip relaxed, Elrohir scrambled to his feet.

Elladan looked uncertain for a fleeting instant, but then his face cleared like the sky after a summer storm.

"C'mon," he chirruped at his bruised twin. Let's go show Amme the stones I found."

Digging in the torn pockets of his over-tunic, he produced a grubby handful of assorted pebbles. Dragging Elrohir behind him, he danced off towards their quarters.

_ _ _ _ _ _

"Why do you do that?" asked Rumil, who had accompanied Elladan.

"Do what?" responded Haldir nonchalantly, scaling the mallorn to sit astride one of its branches.

"Every time that poor little shrub comes to the Golden Wood you deliberately exert yourself to ruin his enjoyment," Rumil rejoined. "I know you have no such contempt for the Lord of Imladris as you profess to his son. What reason can you have? What justice is there in so hurting an innocent child?"

Haldir swung one leg laconically, regarding his elder brother with an arrogance beyond his years.

"I respect Lord Elrond because he is a great warrior and a true leader among both Men and Elves. He has bought the respect of the Elves of the Golden Wood with his blood," he drawled softly. "I intend my barbed arrows not for the father but for the son."

He paused, his haughty sapphire eyes losing their focus. When he returned his attention to Rumil, they were as cold as the Grinding Ice, bitter and sorrowful.

"My brother, you are older than I, yet you do not see with the clarity which is my curse," he snapped. "Much blood has been spilt to protect these lands, and in times to come it will be our own which flows freely into the soil. That is why I have no mercy for the Peredhel brat: in these scarred lands he deserves none."

Rumil's brow furrowed.

"I fail to understand your mode of thinking, dearest little brother," he remarked sarcastically.

Haldir's eyes flashed with impatience.

"Elrohir," he spat, venom dripping from the single word, "is weak … puny … useless. You see how he is, how he shies away from arms and battle, how he cannot even lift a sword. All his life he will hide behind book-learning while we defend our people against the darkness. His cowardice will be paid for with our lives. He deserves compassion neither from me nor from you. I give him none; I suggest you do likewise."

Rumil scrutinised his younger brother's face for some time before shaking his head briskly in bafflement.

"It is you who do not see, Haldir," he sighed. There are many ways to be strong. The hand which wields the sword may be ill-equipped to craft the treaty. The Peredhel may surprise you yet."

Haldir snorted in disbelief, but he sprang lightly from the tree. Linking arms with his bemused brother, the pair strolled away.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Elrond glanced up from the book before him as a small dark head peered round the door.

"Come here," he said affectionately, stretching out one hand, and his youngest son, attired for sleep, slipped into the room. Elrond set the book aside.

The elfling crawled into his father's lap, snuggling gratefully into the warm folds of velvet. Gazing down at the child, Elrond noticed the dark circles under the hollow eyes and the traces of tears on the pale cheeks. Cradling the tiny body close, he realised how thin his child had become. A shock coursed through him. 

"What is wrong, my little star?" he asked, trying to suppress the panic which rose up in him.

Elrohir made no reply, only burrowing deeper into his father's shoulder.

"What is wrong, my little Peredhel?"

Elrohir stiffened, and a faint sob escaped him.

"Don't call me that."

Tilting the babyish face up, Elrond looked into the swimming eyes.

"Why not?" he questioned gently. The name had always elicited a smile from the twins, usually accompanied by a fascinated request to hear the tale of Luthien and Beren, or of Tuor and the fall of Gondolin. Never before had either child trembled.

Elrohir twisted his face away, burying it in the heavy cloth, before replying in a muffled voice.

"He… he says that the Peredhil are filthy, that they are lower than elves. I d-don't want to be lower."

The last word ended on with a damp wail.

The older elf felt deadly rage suffuse him, but there was, mixed with it, something darker and deeper … old fear. Bile rose in his throat at the memory of taunts he could never forget, no matter how many Ages passed. The scars ran too deep.

"Who is 'he'?" Elrond inquired, trying to keep the taut fury out of his voice.

Elrohir shook his head mutely.

"Elrohir," his father warned. "Who is 'he'?"

The child tipped his head slightly, opening one grey eye cautiously, and mumbled, "I shan't tell you. It would be w-weakness."

Elrond sighed, accepting the futility of demanding answers, and hugged Elrohir tenderly. Softly, he began to sing to the huddled child in a melodic voice.

When the last note of the tale of the Elder Days faded away, the younger Peredhel raised his head and favoured his father with a watery smile.

"I don't like it here," he whispered. "I want to go home. I like Imladris. People are nicer there."

Elrond wiped away his son's tears with the ball of his thumb.

"I'll see what I can do."

Glancing up, his eyes met those of Celebrian, who stood in the doorway watching them.

"Now, I think it's bedtime for brave warriors, hmm?"

Standing, he scooped the sleepy child up. Celebrian followed him from the room, her hand warm on the small of his back. Together, they tucked the elfling into the bed next to Elladan's, and, when his breathing quieted, left the twins to their dreams.

"Did you hear?"

"Aye, I did. I stood there for some time watching you."

"I do not know what to do. I cannot help him if he hides from me," Elrond said in a heartbroken voice. "He is my son and yet I cannot protect him from this … this … little orc."

Celebrian sank onto their shared bed, observing his wild strides as he paced the room. The flailing hem of his robe caught a vase of flowers, sending it hurtling to the floor. Guilt-stricken, Elrond bent over the debris picking up the wickedly pointed shards. He cursed vigorously as the glass lacerated his fingers.

"Leave that, meleth nin," Celebrian called, patting the bed beside her. "Come and sit with me before my mother demands your head for destroying Caras Galadhon."

Wearily Elrond struggled from his outer robe and, discarding his boots, settled beside her in his breeches and tunic, still holding his dripping hand aloft.

The silver-haired elf took it in both her own, examining the shallow wounds.

"Foolish clumsy Peredhel," she murmured lovingly before suckling the wounded digit.

"Celebrian," growled Elrond.

His wife released his finger, and looked up at him tantalisingly through her lashes.

"What?" she asked innocently. "I was simply trying to quench the flow of blood."

"I fear that you might accomplish the opposite if you mistreat my hand so."

Moving with lightning reflexes, he captured her hand, and, locking eyes with her, drew it to his mouth. He expertly teased the pad of her finger with his tongue, grazing the knuckle with his teeth. Celebrian whimpered, stirring against him, but he released her reluctantly.

"However, I fear that this is not the time for such delightful diversions."

"And I had been so looking forward to diverting you," she grinned.

With a sigh, Elrond lay backwards until his head was pillowed in Celebrian's lap. She began to smooth his ebony locks, unravelling the intricate braids which framed his noble face. He was lost in thought, lulled by her comforting hands, until she remarked, "Elrohir, of the pair, most reminds me of you."

After a moment's reflection, he chuckled.

"Yes. There was one time in Lindon when Elros hit my tormentor so hard that he broke the child's nose. When Gil-galad found both of us cheering he was so displeased at our delight that Elros and I had to clean the stables for a month," he paused, "but the other child had to scrub barnacles off the boats for two months."

His fine lips quirked, but as he continued his grey eyes became clouded.

"It hurts that he must undergo the same trials, while I must watch him accumulate the same scars on his soul. I wish I could stop it."

Celebrian caressed his forehead, tracing one arched eyebrow with the tips of her fingers.

"Although I do not have your memories," she pondered, "it hurts to see him stop believing. It hurts to see him stop eating, to see him withdraw even from Elladan. And it hurts to see how ill you take it."

Elrond bit his lip, feeling the sting of salt tears in his eyes.

"Do you still fear to cry in my presence, melethron?" she murmured. "After all these years can you doubt that I do not already know what is in your heart?"

Elrond shook his head and, pressing her hand to his feverish lips, let the tears slide freely down his face.

"Would you be unable to forgive me if we went home … to Imladris?"

"Only if you went without me."

"Could I ever be parted from you for long?" he sighed. "What would happen to me without you?"

"You would become Elrond One-Handed from folly when confronted with broken glass, and my mother would set companies of archers on your tail," she said tartly. "It is well that I am here."

"It is," he murmured. "I love you, my silver queen."

"And I love you," she replied. Tugging a lock of his unbraided hair, she urged him upright. Tipping his head towards hers, she breathed, "Tomorrow we will tell the twins. But tonight…"

Eagerly he closed the distance between their mouths. Almost hesitantly, he nudged her lips apart, and their tongues met in a practised dance of desire. Hurriedly, they shed their remaining garments.

As Celebrian nibbled his lower lip, Elrond trailed his hands along the newly exposed skin to cup her head.

In the morning there would be at least one very happy elfling, but for the rest of the night Elrond and Celebrian could lose themselves in each other, their mutual love balming their souls. 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

Ada – dad

Amme – mum

Meleth nin – my beloved [I think]

Melethron – (male) lover.

Peredhel – half-elven

**I use reviews to feed my muse so he doesn't eat me alive. So please click the blue button *grins hopefully***


	2. Misty Mountains

                                                                                    **Sorrow and Joy**

**Chapter Two**

**Disclaimers: **No, their still not mine.  I asked for Elrond very nicely, but no luck.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I'm sorry that the update took such a long time.  

Now, on with the story…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Amid all the hurried preparations for departure; Elrond's frantic search for a book, finally found under the bed; and Elladan's feigned innocence over the loss of his best tunic, Elrohir slipped away into the woods. Treading softly, he made for the glade which had been his alone, where he had felt entirely safe from his tormentor. He breathed a happy sigh as he heard the faint burbling of the brook between grassy banks. Many an afternoon he had spent on a rock in the middle of the current, his feet in the water and his head lost in dreams. He quickened his pace as he rounded the bend and burst into the clearing. He stopped dead. Haldir stood by the stream with his back to the path, affecting the casual arrogance of the march-wardens.

Elrohir tried to shuffle backwards, to escape before he was noticed, but Haldir had heard his precipitous entrance and spun round with a cruel smile on his face.

"Mae govannen, half-breed," he sneered, stalking forwards until he loomed over the other. "I see you are running away back to that orc-hole in the mountains. I confess I realise I should not be surprised, but I had not expected one who even claims to be an elf to be so craven."

Elrohir opened his mouth to speak but could produce no words.

_*He is right… I m running from him like a coward…*_

The blond elf circled round the elfling like some wild beast hunting, until Elrohir could feel the danger radiating from the tall body.

"You will always be useless." Haldir grabbed one braid, twisting it around his fingers until the child yelped in pain. "Many elves will perish because of you. Do you understand that?"

Releasing the lock of hair, he grabbed fistfuls of Elrohir's tunic and hoisted him from the ground. The dark-haired elf looked up at him with wide, pleading grey eyes, which only fuelled his fury. He brought the child's face towards his own, which was contorted with contempt, and hissed, "Do you know how much orcs like the flesh of the Peredhil? They say it is juicy and tender, with just enough of the rank odour of Man to satisfy their foul tastes. They love it so much that they will attack and eat any half-breed who comes near them. Do you think they will come for you as you cross the Misty Mountains?"

Elrohir whimpered in terror.

"N …no."

"Yes, I think they will." Haldir grinned maliciously. "But you are too bony, so they will not want you until there is no one else left. They will eat your foolish Ada first, and you will have to watch. But I do not think that Mandos will want his filthy Edain blood tainting the Halls of Awaiting, and so he will just _die_, and leave this world, and it will all be your fault because you are not brave enough to attack them … So watch out!"

He dropped Elrohir to the soft carpet of leaves with a dull thud and lashed out at the prone body. In the back of his mind he knew that he had gone too far, but angry tears sprang to his eyes at the thought if his dead father, and as he brushed them away he swept his regrets with them.

"What a baby!" he laughed between clenched teeth, and stormed away.

The Peredhel lay crumpled on the ground, sobbing quietly, but with a start he saw that the sun was climbing in the sky and they would soon leave Lothlórien. He scrambled up and sprinted back to the city with a leaden heart.

Elrond noticed the scuff marks and rumpled braids in an instant. His hand went instinctively to the sword-hilt on his hip, but Celebrían shot him a warning look, and instead he extended it to smooth the dark hair of his youngest son.

"Are you ready to leave, pen-nîn tithen?"

Elrohir nodded eagerly despite his worries.

"Yes, Ada. I want to see Imladris again and play in the Bruinen with 'ladan and Aelingalen."

The older elf's heart was somewhat eased by the mention of the elfling who was so alike in temperament to Elrohir, quiet and serious, yet possessing an unexpected wild streak. It was good to know that in the valley the child was not unhappy.

Elrohir accepted his grandmother's gentle embrace.

_*Do not fear, little one* _he heard the serene voice in his mind. _*For all will be well*_

He dared not ask what she meant, and although he heard a ripple of laughter behind her words, his spirits were not much lifted.

"Namarie, daernaneth."

Elrohir began to turn to his grandfather, but at that moment his twin barreled into view, leaves tangled in his hair, and kissed Galadriel before flinging himself into Celeborn's arms. Despite the damage to his pristine silver robes, the normally austere and reserved elf chuckled, hugging Elladan close with one arm, while wrapping the other around Elrohir. Curtained by silver hair, bright in the sunlight, the elflings whispered their farewells.

"When you come back, Elladan, you will be big enough to best me with a sword," the Lord of Lothlórien said with a rare grin. "And to you, Elrohir, I shall tell tales of Doriath. Would that please the pair of you?'

The twins smiled in agreement and only pulled away slowly. 

Mounting their sturdy ponies, they rode out of the city, surrounded by their parents and both members of the Imladris Guard, who had accompanied them, and march-wardens who would see them to the borders of the land.

When at length the riders had passed from sight among the slender mallorns, Celeborn turned to his wife with a concerned frown marring his ageless features.

"Why did you not help him more? Why did you forbid me to do so?" he asked. "He is in great pain, and that can only increase."

Galadriel regarded him intently, drawing one of his hands to her lips and kissing it.

"We must stand by, for from great sorrow, greater joy will spring."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was drawing close to dusk, and the air at these latitudes would be more than chilly when full night fell, even in the height of summer.

"Elladan, Elrohir!" their father called. The twins lifted their identical heads from their conversation. "See if you can find some firewood, but do not stray too far."

The children scampered off, their dark hair flying out behind them.

Celebrían moved closer to her husband.

"You fear for him," she stated, noticing the worried lines which spread around his stormy eyes. Elrond sat back on his heels, abandoning his task.

"He does not eat," he whispered agitatedly. "He broods and his dreams are disturbed. You must have seen."

"Aye, I have. He rather reminds me of another Peredhel I know…"

Elrond pretended to be affronted.

"Surely you do not tell me that I brood?"

"Indeed I do." She leaned over and pulled him gently towards herself until his head was resting in her lap. Bending down so that her hair caressed his face, she murmured, "You know we cannot do anything yet. Whenever one of us attempts to broach the subject he retreats into himself."

"Aye, I know, but my fear does not diminish for that." He captured a silvery strand and pressed it to his lips, inhaling her scent.

"Nor mine, melethron-nîn, nor mine."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Elrohir lay on his stomach on the forest floor, contentedly poking at an old bird's nest with one finger. Creeping stealthily towards him, Elladan pounced, landing on his twin's back. The younger flipped over and began to thrash his arms wildly, landing a solid punch to his brother's jaw.

Elladan stumbled back, clutching his injured face, tears of hurt in his eyes.

"Why did you do that?" he demanded petulantly "I was only playing."

Elrohir began to cry as well.

"I'm … I'm sorry, 'ladan … I did not think it was you," he sobbed.

"Who else would it be?"

But his brother buried his face in the soft leaf-mulch and refused to answer. Elladan edged nearer and nearer, until he could lay one childish hand on the shaking shoulder.

"What is it, 'rohir?"

The question only elicited a series of loud sniff.

"What is it, 'rohir?"

Silence.

"What is it?"

Still the younger would not reply, and a sudden light flickered in Elladan's young eyes.

"Who is it? Who are you afraid of?"

Elrohir sat bolt upright, prepared to refute all allegations, but he had never been able to lie outright to his twin.

"'Tis … 'twas … Haldir."

"That blonde idiot?" the elder snorted. "What did he say?"

"He said … he said that I am pathetic, because I am only half an elf and like books. He insulted Ada and he hurt me."

Elladan brandished a thick twig like a sword, waving it to and fro.

"I will cut his heart out and make him eat it … I will stick his head on a pole … I will let daernaneth drown him in her mirror…" He danced around the clearing, thrusting and parrying with the dead wood, and despite himself Elrohir laughed.

"I do not think that daernaneth drowns people."

Flinging himself across the intervening space, Elladan hugged his brother tightly.

"See. I will protect you, and so will Ada and Ammë and Glorfi."

"Promise you will not tell them though?" Elrohir asked anxiously.

"I promise."

The younger twin grinned uncertainly as they resumed their quest for dried wood. Although it was a relief to tell his brother, he could not disclose the other burden weighing upon him.

_*What if the orcs come tonight and eat __Ada__?*_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The boy leaned against the tent-pole, alert for any sign of danger, refusing to let his eyelids droop. At the faintest rustling of leaves he gripped his father's sword, drawing the blade close to himself.

"I shall kill you first, yrch. You will not eat my Ada, nor Elladan," he promised vehemently.

Elrond, drifting in and out of sleep, his body warmed by Celebrían beside him, heard his son's voice, but did not perceive the meaning of his words.

When he awoke in the morning it was to find the boy in a deep slumber, his thin arms clasped around the sword. When he moved to disentangle the weapon, Elrohir's grey eyes became suddenly alert.

"Ada! You are safe!"

"Indeed I am, little swordsman. Will you give my sword to me?" He pressed a kiss to the pallid brow.

"I relinquish your sword to you," Elrohir said with unwonted sobriety, "my liege-lord."

Elrond hunkered down by the balled figure.

"I am not your liege-lord. I am your father," he assured the boy, not knowing what had precipitated such an odd turn of phrase. "And would my brave little warrior like some breakfast?"

Concealing how he had flinched at the undeserved epithet, Elrohir nodded.

Flat mushrooms still sizzling from the pan, redolent with herbs, were ladled onto plates. The elder twin tucked into his with gusto, but the younger merely picked at his, feeling nauseous with dread.

Celebrían, her eyes still blurry with sleep, nevertheless noticed his actions.

"What ails you, sweeting?"

"Nothing!" he riposted sharply. "I am not hungry, Ammë."

"But please eat something, my child," she coaxed him. "Do you wish Glorfindel to see you wasted away?"

Reluctantly, Elrohir took a few mouthfuls, but the image of orcs gorging on his beloved father's body flooded his mind.

"I cannot eat this! I will not eat in this place!" he yelled, dropping his fork to the ground and shooting up. Surreptitiously Elladan reached for the discarded mushrooms.

Celebrían stood , the skirts of her blue-grey riding dress whispering across the sparse grass, and gathered the trembling frame of her youngest son close.

"I shall not make you eat, faeg hên, if you do not wish to. But will you eat when we reach Imladris?"

Visions of home assailed Elrohir's mind … his own room, warm and safe … the green grass climbing the steep crags … the waterfalls where laughter sung in the water … sitting on his father's knee in the Hall of Fire, listening to his mother singing…

"I promise, Ammë," he said softly. "But can we get there quickly?"

Elrond, standing nearby in a simple tunic and breeches of moss-green which made him seem even younger, replied, "Yes, my son. Soon you will be home."

He cast his cloak over his shoulders and moved to tell the soldiers to break camp.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The days drew on and Elrohir slept little. His eyes darted from side to side as they crossed the Redhorn Pass, fixed first on the snow-tipped peaks then on the dark caves which yawned on either side. Great ravines, so deep that they seemed to lead to the void beyond the world, fell away by the path, yet no incident befell the travellers. Despite this, the child became haggard, his face grey and his eyes wide with fear, all colour swallowed by the blackness of the pupils. Even when they began their descent he did not rest, waking from nightmares in which faceless monsters ripped the flesh from his bones. Each night Elrond would wake to watch his son's fitful slumber, terror and memories of terror in his heart.

_*Once I slept like this … when Gildon swore that Gil-galad did not love me and was planning to leave me in the wilds for warg bait. He poisoned my mind and I could not rest in ease … I pray to Elbereth that whatever burden is laid upon my son be lifted. I would not forsake him, as Ereinion Gil-galad did not forsake me, but he is obstinately silent, and I cannot soothe him…*_

But he did not realise that which tormented his son, for it was beyond his noble heart to conceive that even the cruellest of children would tell such a tale. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They were in sight of the valley now. The elf-lord looked over to his sons. Elladan pranced on his pony, rising in the saddle for the first glimpse of the roofs of the house, but Elrohir was soundly asleep. Hours before, Elrond had noticed the limpness of his hands on the beast's neck and the droop of his eyelids, and the child had been lifted from his mount and placed in the care of a young guard. The elf held the small body in front of him with one hand, the other lightly entangled in the horse's mane.

As they drew into the courtyard, Elrond sprang lightly to the ground, and moved to retrieve his son.

"Wake up now, sleepy. We are in Imladris," he murmured as he took the slight form from the soldier. There was no answer, and he repeated the entreaty. When Elrohir was still unresponsive, he shook him lightly. "Wake up, Elrohir."

Placing the back of one hand on his son's forehead, he realised that it was cold and clammy, while the pulse was slow and faint. Elrond cursed vividly in the Common Tongue. "He is unconscious. Why did I not see this? Why did you not see this?" The guardsman backed away, muttering apologies, but his lord was not listening, his long strides carrying him into the house.

"What is wrong with him?" Elladan asked his mother, tugging at her sleeve. Celebrían looked down at him distractedly.

"I do not know. Let us follow your father."

They found Elrond bent over a bed in the Halls of Healing, his countenance as wan as that of the sick boy. They stood in the doorway, watching as he listened to Elrohir's breathing and examined his body with nimble fingers. A small sigh escaped him and he bent his head until his forehead touched the frail chest for an instant before rising and beginning to collect medicinal herbs.

"Do you know why he sickens?" Celebrían moved to her husband's side, laying one hand on his shoulder.

"Aye. 'Tis no as grievous as I feared, and I should have realised what was happening. He is exhausted and weak from lack of food." He pinched the bridge of his nose in a characteristic gesture. "He must rest, and I shall prepare a healing draft. I pray that things will go better with him now we are home, or nothing will appease my wrath."

Glorfindel appeared in the doorway, his ethereal face concerned as his gaze alighted on Elrohir's prone form. He opened his mouth to speak, but the lady of the house explained the situation to him in a low voice, before depositing the squirming elder twin in his arms and shooing him from the room.

She began to assist her husband, falling into the practiced rhythm of those perfectly in tune with one another. Once the medicine had been poured down the child's unresisting throat, Elrond collapsed into a chair. Noticing the defeated slump of his shoulders, Celebrían sat on the chair-arm, running her long fingers through his hair.

He glanced up at her, his grey eyes brimming with tears. 

"We must find out why he would neither sleep nor eat. I am afraid of what will happen if we do not."

"Indeed we must. My heart tells me that something in the mountains frightened him," her voice was calm, for she knew that she had to soothe not only her son when he awoke, but also her terrified husband. "There is none in Arda more able to heal him of his fears than you, meleth-nîn."

Elrond was not reassured.

"My skill – such as it is – lies with bodies, no souls," he rasped.

Celebrían slipped into his lap, and he huddled close to her familiar warmth as she pressed a kiss to his furrowed forehead.

"You do yourself an injustice, my lord. You have healed as many souls as bodies. Glorfindel would not live so easily in this world without the care you gave him when he returned from the Halls. Have faith."

"You are my faith, celeb loth-nîn." He held here tightly, and they watched Elrohir sleep.

Dawn's first light streamed through the window, and the younger Peredhel stirred.

Elrond carefully raised himself from the chair, trying not to disturb his wife's slumber, and moved to the bedside.

"Ada?" Elrohir blinked up at him.

"Yes, I am here, my son," he said, perching on the side of the bed. "And we are home."

"Good… Now we are away from them…"

"Please, Elrohir, tell me who 'they' are. I promise that I will not be cross."

The boy considered lying, but the resolute set of his father's face dissuaded him.

"I was so afraid they would eat you, because we are Peredhil, and they like to eat us above all else."

"Who?" Elrond was confused.

"The… the orcs. He said that they like to eat the half-elven and would come after us."

Quelling the urge to ask who 'he' was because he perceived that it would be useless, Elrond smiled gently.

"Indeed, the orcs are evil, but they are no more fond of the Peredhil than of any others. I faced them for many years on the Dagor Dagorlad, and, see, I have no bite-marks," he joked, rolling up one sleeve to show his unbitten forearm.

"Really?"

"Really," Elrond affirmed.

"Will you tell me about the Last Alliance?" 

The elf launched into the heroic tale, omitting its more gory details.

"Ada?" Elrohir interjected suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Can I have some food? I am very hungry, but I did not want to eat near the orcs." The child's face was hopeful, and Elrond exhaled in relief.

"Yes, you may. I think that the kitchens have cooked some soup you may have."

Elrohir's face contorted in disappointment at such lacklustre fare, but he was too hungry to complain.

The child slurped up the last of the warming broth, and settled back into the pillows.

"Ada?" He opened one eye sleepily.

"Yes, Elrohir?"

"I would have fought the evil orcs. I would have killed them."

"I know you would have, Elrohir," the elf responded. "You would have done so with great skill and valor."

And while the boy slept soundly, his parents kept a vigilant watch.

TBC

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Translations:

Mae govannen – well met.

pen-nîn tithen – my little one.

Namarie – farewell.

Daernaneth – grandmother.

melethron-nîn – my lover (male).

faeg hên – poor child.

celeb loth-nîn – my silver flower.


	3. Storytelling

                                                                                    **Sorrow and Joy**

**Chapter Three**

Thanks for waiting for this chapter.  I'm sorry that it's been this long.

**A/N:** Please don't hurt me for doing this to Haldir.  In the end he's not going to be OOC.  Remember that this is a very young Haldir full of barely suppressed rage against the world.  I intend to show him growing into the personality we all know and love from the books *huggles Haldir* But at the moment, this is concentrated on Elrond's family.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"How fare you this morning, pen-nîn tithen?" Elrond stood in the doorway and smiled gently at his younger son, who was propped up against the pillows, his black hair still shocking against the pallor of his face.

"I am much better, ada," Elrohir said, bouncing a little.  "May I go outside and play?"

"Nay, my son."

"But why?" His lower lip trembled threateningly and his father was reminded all too well of the emotional quagmire his son had stumbled into.

"You have been very ill."  Elrond perched on the edge of the bed, tenderly smoothing back a lock of hair which had fallen into Elrohir's face.  "Do you not see that you must rest?"

"But that was only because I could not eat," the elfling protested.  "But look, I am eating now."

Indeed, the low table was scattered with discarded fruit peel and biscuit crumbs, all tangled up in the snarled and frayed remains of a cloth belt which the younger twin stubbornly refused to wear.

"But your breakfast has not yet been brought to you…" The elf-lord was momentarily confused, until he caught sight of the unmistakable traces of pocket-lint clinging to the one remaining biscuit.  "Ah, now I begin to understand.  Elladan was very kind to bring you a snack."

"Yes he was," Elrohir said eagerly.  "'Ladan wants to go and play by the Bruinen … but can I have breakfast first?"

"You may have breakfast, but you may not play outside."

"You are being cruel, ada!" he wailed with the bitterness of the very young.

"Nay, ion-nîn," Elrond sighed, beginning to understand the petrified look which had affixed itself to he High King's face when he had been confronted by a pair of peredhil twins whose delight had been to get themselves thoroughly lost and draped in seaweed exploring the rock-pools of Balar.  "'Tis for your own good that I forbid this.  You have not yet recovered your full strength, and I would not wish you to make yourself ill."

"But…"

"No buts," the elder elf declared firmly.  "Would you like me to tell you a story?"

"No."  Elrohir folded his arms across his chest in a passable imitation of his mother when she was angered.  "I do not want any silly stories.  I want my breakfast, and then I want to play with Elladan."

"Would you like porridge?" Elrond stood, absent-mindedly brushing crumbs from his burgundy robe.

"Can I have honey?" 

"Yes, little one, you may."

"Lots and lots of honey?" 

The older peredhel nodded. 

"Would you like Elladan to bring your toy soldiers?"

At this the sulking elfling perked up a little, although he tried not to show it.

"Please."

Elrond padded softly from the room, thinking glumly that he would surely suffer the consequences of this once Elrohir's enforced confinement was over.

"You crept too early from my bed this morn," Celebrían whispered in his ear, and, startled, he turned, catching her in his arms.  She was, he noticed, still wearing her soft, gauzy nightgown under a loose dressing gown.

"Hmm … I must agree with you.  Far too early, meleth-nîn." He buried his face in her luxuriant silver tresses, his hands creeping round to caress the sensitive skin of her back through the fabric.  "Unfortunately, as time and tide wait for no one, neither do our sons.  Elrohir had all but convinced himself that he is fit to run and scream in the trees as usual, and Elladan was priming his brother with a pre-breakfast snack."

"I seem to remember another elf of this family who would not be kept in his bed by sickness," Celebrían laughed, gingerly picking a scrap of apple peel from his robes.

"I was not sick," Elrond retorted austerely.  "I am an elf.  Elves do not fall prey to sickness."

"You are half-elven, dear my love," she murmured against his strong jaw-line.  "Pray what was it if it was not sickness?"

"The twinge of an old wound; naught to keep me from my duties in that dread time."

"You were sneezing, El-nîn, and had a raging fever so high that I could feel it from ten paces distant.  Admit it: you had contracted … a … a cold."

They stopped for a moment, content in one another's arms, to recall her first visit to Imladris, and the unfortunate and embarrassing malady which had struck down its lord.

"Was it so very long ago?" he asked in a low voice.

"Not so long ago, but it seems as if an thousand yéni have passed, and I can never be that maiden again – for which I am profoundly glad, as she had not half the blessings which have been bestowed on me."

"You count me a blessing?" he teased, but he could not quite dispel the lump of emotion in his throat.

"Aye, that I do.  I remember an elf-lord who could scarce drag his eyes from his books to look upon the daughter of an old ally."

"I dared not, for fear that you might spurn me, a war-wearied half-elf."

"And yet here we are," she said in a husky undertone.

"Here we are indeed … despite the fact that I might have perished of this … cold.  As I remember it, you were no patient nurse with the bedside manner of Estë herself.  You threw a heavy pile of books at me and the proceeded to read them yourself."  There was an intense, burning light of affection in his grey eyes.

"Ah, so you admit that you were ill?" she giggled.

"What recompense might I receive for my loss of face?"

"If you are patient, I might tell you … or I might leave you wondering."  And with that, she pressed a swift kiss to his lips and disentangled herself from his embrace.  "Come, El-nîn, I believe we have a pair of ravenous elflings to feed."

~*~

Elrond paused in the doorway of the room, the flask of restorative serum held lightly in his hand.  From within he could hear shrieks of laughter, punctuated by the feigned noises of battle.  The twins sat on the bed, dark heads bent close together, hair intermingling, acting out a ferocious battle with two armies of grim-faced elven warriors wrought from wood, carefully painted.

However, now the battle seemed to have ground to a halt due to an altercation between those directing it.

"No, you cannot be adar.  I get to be adar, because I am the eldest, as he was."

"But you _always_ get to be adar.  Why can I not be him this time?"

An affectionate smile curved Elrond's lips at this, but, just as he was about to announce his presence, the next words halted him.

"But I do not want to be Gil-galad.  He was stuuupid.  Ada would not have got himself killed by silly Sauron.  I do not want to be a bad warrior.  He must have been really useless, because I would just have hit Sauron with my sword and he would have been deader than dead.  But Gil-galad was useless.  Look…" And Elladan proceeded to demonstrate quite how vulnerable the High King had been with many gruesome sound effects.

It was foolish, he reflected much, much later.  But at the time, he had been stung by the death of the elf who had been a father to him when there were no others left re-enacted with such casual disregard, and, more, by the pang of guilt which overwhelmed him at the thought that his teaching had so remiss, so egocentric as to leave his sons with this image.

The fragile glass container slipped through his nerveless fingers and shattered on the tiled floor, unnoticed by the squabbling elflings.  Silently, his face a blank mask, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

~*~

Eventually, it was Celebrían who found him, slumped on a bench in an arbor overlooking the tumbling waterfalls, his twilit hair veiling his face.

"Elrond."  He did not look up, showed no sign of having noticed her.  "Listen to me, Elrond."

"What is there to listen to, my lady?" he inquired coldly.

"'What is there to listen to'?" she exclaimed.  "You missed lunch, and have not attended your business all day.  More importantly, your sons await a story.  What am I supposed to tell them?"

"It seems I am not the best person to tell them any more tales."  The deep despair in his voice jolted her from her indignant anger.

"What ails you?" She sat herself down beside him, her blue skirts lapping against his boots.

"I…'Tis nothing to worry yourself about," he said in a tone which was meant to be reassuring, but was so devoid of all emotion that it had the opposite effect.

"But I do worry," she persisted.  "Tell me."

With halting, clipped words, never meeting her anxious blue gaze, he explained what he had overheard.

"And so, it seems, they are wrong who name me a master of lore, if I am unable to teach my children of their history."

"Elrond." She slid one finger under his chin, tilting it up until she could catch his stormy eyes.  "You make too much of too little.  They do not hold Ereinion Gil-galad in contempt, but merely wish to emulate their father, in whom they see many things that are good and pure."

"But what if…"

"If you are so afraid that you have done him injustice," she replied thoughtfully, "then you choose the wrong course to forsake your storytelling.  You speak so often of his fall because it is so often in your mind, am I not right?"

"Aye," he conceded, bafflement etched on his face.

"Then tell the other tales.  I am sure your first expedition was not without incident."

"Ai, hervess, you have such faith in my military prowess."  A glimmer of humour shone once more in his eyes.

"If it would stop you brooding thus, I would say that you were the worst warrior in Middle-earth." She smiled, thankful that the grim cloud seemed to have left his eyes.  "And I would imagine that Gil-galad was there to save your hide?"

"Aye."

"Then speak of it to them.  Come, they are waiting."

"Not yet."  He snaked one arm round her slender waist, pulling her against his lean length, and pressed a greedy kiss to her mouth.  Groaning at the onslaught of his talented hands, Celebrían responded eagerly.

"What would I do without you, celeb loth nîn?" he sighed, drawing away at last.

"That you have asked before, and I have given my answer," she reminded him, tracing intricate patterns on his thigh.

"Indeed you have," he said with a grin which banished the somberness of his fine features.  "But now, meleth-nîn, I believe we have a tale to tell, you and I."

Catching her hand in his, he began the languorous walk back to the house.

~*~

When they reached the twins' room, the toy soldiers lay abandoned on the floor, while the elflings bounced merrily on the bed, daring each other as to who could make the springs squeak the loudest.

"Ada!" They threw themselves at him as one, toppling him to the floor with their exuberance.  Landing with his head cushioned on his wife's supple curves, Elrond was loathe to move for a moment – that was, until Elladan and Elrohir began to bounce up and down on his midriff with glee.

"Daro, daro pen-nîn tithin," he wheezed.  "Would you like your story?"

"Can you not tell us over supper?" Elladan said dolefully.  "We are hungry."

With a pang of guilt, the Lord of Imladris realised that the sun had dipped far into the west, and that the faint din in the distance was the clatter of platters being set on the long tables.

"Very well."

~*~

The twins' busied themselves with spearing slices of meat at least half their own size, and ladling piquant gravy over them until the poor forgotten vegetables were well and truly drowned.  Celebrían sipped delicately at her goblet, her eyes smiling at her husband over the intricately wrought rim.

"Ada, the story," Elrohir prompted around a mouthful of chicken while his brother chased a stray pea across the tablecloth with his knife.

"Only once Elladan desists from his quest," Elrond reproved.  The younger twin shot a look of false piety at his older brother, and Elladan dropped his knife guiltily, grabbing his fork to stab at a morsel of the succulent venison.

"I have now," he said guilelessly.  "I only did it because the pea was defying me, ada."

Celebrían muffled a laugh at the scowl, so like her husband's, as was the stern language.

"Are you settled?  No more rogue vegetables?  Well then, once upon a time, long, long ago…"

"When daernaneth was little?" Elrohir asked with wide eyes at such an odd notion.

"No, not that long ago.  But long ago, when I lived on the Isle of Balar with my foster-father, the High King, Gil-galad, there was to be a party sent to the mainland to hunt for orcs.  Now, Elros and I were not that much older than you two, and we wanted desperately to go with our adar…"

"Can we go with you?" Elladan burst in.

"Nay, ion-nîn.  Not yet.  We were a _little _older than you, maybe forty-five years of age…"

At the mention of such an unattainably distant age, the elder twin gave up his notions of following his father and Glorfindel out into the wilds – yet.

"But, as I was saying, we wanted to hunt the orcs, and we were permitted to do so.  When the day came I do not believe we had slept at all, and so, rubbing our eyes, we went out into the main courtyard, and rode off.  Well, the sea crossing was very bumpy…"

"Like this?" Elrohir waved a dish of seasoned asparagus across the table, narrowly missing slopping the fragrant butter over Glorfindel's immaculate tresses.  The elf-lord smiled and hastily pried the elfling's fingers from the crockery, setting it down.

"Your children are terrors, mellon iaur.  Do you have no control over them?" he remarked sarcastically, but there was deep love for the entire family etched in his handsome face.  He had not expected to love them, and yet…

"It appears not," Elrond retorted, slightly distracted by Celebrían's fingers wandering across the nape of his neck.  "But, if I am to tell this tale…"

"Oh, pray continue." Glorfindel lounged back in his chair.  "As I remember, this one is quite amusing…"

The Master of the Last Homely House glared darkly at him before continuing, "The ship went up and down, and I was quite sick, being very young and very nervous.  Of course, Elros laughed at me, and I was determined to prove that I was the better warrior.

"And so it was that, on our second day, we came upon a party of orcs cackling round their meal and setting fire to the trees for fun…"

He would not tell his innocent sons what they had suspected that meal had consisted of.  There was a time and a place for everything, and during early childhood over a laden dinner table was not it.  Indeed, considering the wide nervousness of Elrohir's eyes, this was the last knowledge he wished to impart.

"…And so naturally we attacked them.  Elros was a whirl of bright steel in the moonlight…"

He could still remember the bright geysers of black blood which had spurted out from under his brother's blade, the severed head rolling to a standstill at his feet, and the bile rising from the pit of his stomach.

"…Adar … Gil-galad was a seamless flurry of bright and dark, of glittering spear and midnight cloth, and the soldiers did what they knew to do.  But I was afraid, and I stood, stock-still in the midst of battle, my sword hilt slippery in my hands."

The twins looked overawed at the thought of their brave adar not being able to heft his blade, a terror to all.

"And there was this one orc, a big, ugly brute – rather like Glorfindel's horse…"

The scion of the House of the Golden Flower swept him a mocking bow, and the elflings giggled appreciatively.  

"…He came at me with his axe held high, and he was going to chop my head off like butter in the dish.  I was quite transfixed with fear…"

Again he did not add that he had been unable to bear the idea of killing, even if he was faced with one of Morgoth's hideous travesties, but, for one of his audience at least, such words were unnecessary.  Celebrían rested a comforting hand on his shoulder, kneading the knotted muscles.

"I was sure that I was deader than that goose." He pointed to the elaborately dressed bird which adorned the table.  "But then, as I was waiting for the fell stroke, a blur of motion came out of the trees, shining brightly in the firelight and the moonlight, and … with a single stroke – as clever a blow as ever elf of Man has struck – the orc was dead at my feet, and I was still alive.  I looked up into my saviour's blue eyes – of course, who else could it be but my foster-father?

"I was about to thank him, but he yelled, and then suddenly I saw Elros pinioned by an orc which had had its axe to his throat, although he was trying to push it off.  And in that moment, I knew what I had to do, and I could do it, thanks to Gil-galad.  The orc fell beneath my sword."

And in that moment, I knew that there were many choices, but none of them easy, and I must make them all.

Her hand came to settle on the back of his neck, her calming fingers drifting through his hair.

Elladan and Elrohir, on the other hand, were enraptured, bouncing up and down in the chairs, letting out wild whoops of delight.

"Ha!" The elder snatched up his knife, stabbing the now cold venison. "Dead orcs!  Ha!"

"I am glad you could kill the orc."  Elrohir clambered into his father's lap after his mirth died down, clutching at the velvet lapels.

Elrond wondered if he himself truly was.

The healer who does not heal… 

'Twas one thing entirely to hate the orcs, to save his brother, and quite another to spill blood.  He had, of course, many a time, but never entirely rid himself of that queasy sorrow.

"So am I," he responded, feeling the dichotomy deep within him.  But at least his sons were happy, burbling and chucking at the story.

"Meleth-nîn."  Celebrían clasped his hand under the table, leaning close to speak in his ear.  "Your burdens are mine.  And they have no low thoughts of he who saved their father from his own good heart."

He saw that she spoke the truth: Elrohir was dangling out of his arms to discuss the game of ambushing the orcs who had attacked their adar in hissed whispers.

~*~

"Was it good, or merely foolish?" he asked, much, much later, his fingers lingering on the nape of her neck as he unhooked her necklace.

"Compassion is never folly when one feels it truly."  She caught him off balance and bowled him onto the bed.  "The stories you have to tell are composed in equal parts of sorrow and joy.  Now apart that recompense…"

TBC

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Translations:

El-nîn – my star.

Yéni – Great Years – 144 normal years.

Hervess – wife.

Daro - stop

Ion-nîn – my son.

Mellon iaur – old friend.

Review and tell me what you think.


	4. Presents

****

Sorrow and Joy

****

Chapter Four

Sorry for the exceptionally long pause between chapters. It's been a bit of a chaotic year.

Thanks to **Lalaith** and **Isis** for betaing this.

Reviews are really very good for my muse. ;)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Celebrían awoke to the slightly disconcerting sensation of something landing on her legs with a soft thump. For a moment she lay there, trying to gather her sleep-scattered wits, only to have them dispersed again by a second thump. She groaned, her face squashed into the pillows by the pair of elflings dancing energetically on her back with bare dusty feet Elrond's hand found hers under the covers and squeezed reassuringly

"Your children," she whispered, her breath ruffling his hair, but he only grinned.

With a mock sigh, the Lady of Imladris rolled onto her back, catching her young sons round their waists to stay their antics before they managed to end up on the floor. The elflings squealed and squirmed happily, and Celebrían was confronted with two pairs of over-eager grey eyes framed by sleep-tousled dark hair.

"Now, what can it be which has awakened you so early this morn?" she teased, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Ammë..." they chorused, shock and horror showing in their faces. "You cannot have forgotten!"

"Forgotten what?"

"You cannot have forgotten!" they repeated adamantly.

"But you must know that your mother is very absent-minded," Elrond said seriously, but there was a wicked glint in his somber eyes.

Celebrían shot him a look which promised seriously retribution later, and turned back to her sons. "So, pen-nîn tithin, what have I forgotten this time?" she asked innocently.

"Our begetting day!" they clamoured.

"Oh yes!" She clapped one hand across her mouth. "I remember now. I wonder if I remembered gifts too…"

"You never forgot!" Elladan cried, grinning broadly. "Elrohir, I bet you an iced bun that ammë never forgot about our begetting day after all…"

Elrohir bounced excitedly, his hair flying. "May we have our gifts now, ammë? Please?"

"Nay. First you must dress, and, once we have broken our fast, then you may see your gifts."

She slumped back on the pillows and watched as they scampered from the room, jostling each other companionably to be the first through the arched doorway which led to the corridor to their rooms.

"Well, meleth-nîn," Elrond said with a smile, "we should be up, or else the twins will have driven Glorfindel to distraction before breakfast is served."

"Can we not stay here?" Celebrian burrowed underneath the covers to emphasis her point. "There is a chill in the corridors, but here there is warmth enough for two."

Her husband lowered his lips to hers and kissed her softly, slowly, tenderly. "I would love to accept your invitation, Brí-nîn but I fear we shall not go long undisturbed if we remain here and do not present our relentless offspring with the gifts they demand."

With a groan, she rolled from the bed, reaching for a thick gown in which to wrap herself until she could take the edge off the winter's chill with a warm bath and a warmer robe.

~*~

It proved to be a feat of skill and endurance indeed to keep the twins in their seats during breakfast. Even as they were toasted with spiced wine by the population of the Last Homely House, their names resounding in the Great Hall, they were restlessly excited, sweetened warm milk spilling from their mugs as they jiggled on their chairs, fidgeting with the honeyed pastries provided for the occasion, crumbling them into bits beneath their fingertips. Glorfindel caught his friend's gaze and rolled his eyes dramatically. "Rather you than I, mellon-iaur."

"I would wish myself in no other position." Elrond smiled tenderly at his sons. Then he paused, and pulled a fragment of pastry, covered in dried fruits and sticky icing, from his braided tresses. One long-fingered hand clamped around Elrohir's wrist as he was about to fling another such morsel at his elder twin, undoubtedly to miss again and hit his noble sire. "Nay, ion-nîn. This is no seemly behaviour for an elfling. And you would not like to be thought an orcling, now would you?"

Elrohir ducked his head in shame and mumbled something indecipherable under his breath.

"What did you say?"

"Sorry, Adar."

"Good." Elrond ruffled his hair affectionately. "These pastries really are much more pleasant to eat than to throw."

Glorfindel smirked. "You were saying?"

"Nothing, mellon-nîn. Absolutely nothing."

He stood, checking his hair and clothing for any more unusual surprises, and raised his goblet. "To my sons, Elladan and Elrohir, to the valley and the House which are their home, and to the lady who gave them life, my Lady Celebrían."

Once the cheering had faded somewhat, Celebrían rose to her feet, and smiled. "To my sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and to my lord husband."

In the evening, more toasts would be drunk, but at this age the elflings would be unlikely to stay awake for any great part of it, much though they averred each year that they would. Instead, the morning's toast drunk with a draft of hippocras, and of honeyed, spiced milk for the elflings, had become a custom in Imladris which none would willingly forsake.

When all was done, and there was little left of the repast save crumbs and fruit peel, the crowd dispersed, going about their daily tasks. The Lord and Lady, however, were dragged off towards their living quarters by their sons, who were entirely intent on reaching their goal, no matter what stood in the way, even if that did happen to be a solid wall.

The twins ricocheted around their chambers like misfired crossbow bolts, their clothes in an increasing state of disarray, their faces tense with excitement and not a little trepidation.

"What if they have got us clothes?" Elladan elbowed his twin in the ribs.

Elrohir shrugged. "We shall just have to pretend that they get lost in the laundry so they have to give us new gifts."

"But Ada always knows when we lie…" But he never finished, for his parents had returned. The packages in their arms certainly did not seem to be clothes. For one thing, they looked to be far too small, and for another, there was no hint that the contents might be malleable under their silken wrappings, bound with gaudy ribbons in the colours of their House.

Elrond placed a package in each pair of outstretched hands, and stepped back to watch that which ensued.

Elrohir felt his heart pounding in his throat as his childish fingers struggled with the intricate knots, trying to find out how to manipulate them to free the contents which slipped so enticingly beneath his touch. He bit his lip in concentration, determined that he would not have to ask his amme or ada for help. To his left, he heard Elladan's cry of triumph, and just as he felt most frustrated, the last knot gave way beneath his fingers, and the silken wrappings parted. Then, he, too, squeaked happily, his braids bobbing as he hopped from one foot to the other.

In his hands lay a weapon that could be classed neither as a dagger, nor as a sword, for it was something in between them in size. Its blade was leaf-shaped and delicate, but the elfling could feel the tensile strength in it, the resilience of a blade no ordinary blow could shatter. He turned it over and over, noticing the curved crosspiece, the leather-bound hilt, the simple jewel set in the pommel. The length of the blade was engraved with a pattern of mallorn leaves, entwined with runes. He traced them with one finger, laboriously reading wishes for protection and for peace which would make such a weapon unnecessary.

"Thank you!" He threw himself first into his father's arms, and then his mother's, narrowly missing impaling them with his new gift. In turn, they hugged him, tucking his flailing arm carefully to his side.

"May this begetting day bring you joys uncounted in the years ahead."

He would never be able to remember in which voice's cadence he had heard those words, only that they had been full of amusement, and of love.

Breaking free, he grinned wildly at Elladan. "I challenge you, Orc!"

"Ha!" Elladan threw himself into the fight with an expression of heartfelt glee. The two blades clashed inexpertly, sliding past each other, the cross guards tangling together, separating only with difficulty and the grinding hiss of metal against metal. The elder's blade was swifter in its attempt to find its mark, whistling towards the throat of his brother. No intent of malice was there, but he so wanted to win…

It found fabric…

But instead of his brother's boyishly slender chest, it was his father's narrow hips it met, cutting a neat line through the heavy robes of the Lord of Imladris but drawing no blood.

With gentle hands, Elrond retrieved the knife, weighing it in his grasp. "This is a trust which you bear, and may you bear it well. But always remember that it is a trust, and a deadly one. These are no toys we have given unto you. Your mother and I hope that you derive much enjoyment from them, but you must not use them in idle play, or else you may cause more harm than you can possibly know. And if either of us discover that you have used these blades in anger against any but a creature of the Enemy, they shall no longer be yours to hold."

The twins nodded, chastened, although Elrohir still held his knife as if it was the most precious thing in the entire world. Smiling, Elrond returned its companion to the elder twin. "Would you like to go and play in the snow? I believe that Glorfindel is waiting for you…"

The swift flight of the eagles of Manwë could scarcely have exceeded their rush from the room, the knives already fastened around their waists by the belts and sheaths of supple leather which had accompanied them.

Immediately, Celebrían hurried forward, checking her husband for any signs of blood loss. His grey eyes glinted at her undaunted although he made no attempt to stay her hands. "I am well, meleth-nîn."

Ascertaining for herself that he spoke the truth, she made her way downstairs at a leisurely pace, hand in hand, pausing only to don a heavy cloak.

They found their sons attempting to bury one another in deep snowdrifts and stockpiling caches of loosely packed snowballs. The elflings coughed and spluttered as they inhaled mouthfuls of the drifting snow, but kept their hands conscientiously well away from their new knives, relying instead on the load of snow on the bending branches to assail one another.

Elrohir scaled a bare-branched oak tree with the facility of a squirrel, pelting his sibling, his parents, and his tutor indiscriminately with snowballs garnered from the nooks and crannies of the ancient tree which had stood there even before his father had founded the haven in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Elladan scurried up the tree after him, not so agile, but making up for it in determination, while the older Elves stood on the ground and laughed, not adverse to throwing snowballs among themselves. Celebrían was particularly assiduously occupied shoving fistfuls of snow down the neck of her husband's robes when the elflings leapt from the tree, shrieking delightedly to find their move unexpected. Moving with speed only possible for the Eldar, their parents caught them, staggering slightly at the blow, and found their clothes plastered in snow, even as their faces were covered in slightly sticky kisses.

Laughing, they sat in the midst of the snow, the cool, low sun of midwinter lancing onto their faces, pale and silver even this early in the day. Warm cloaks provided enough comfort against the cold, and from somewhere Glorfindel produced a handful of honeyed sweets, showering them into the elflings' laps with a grin.

~*~

Haldir awoke with a shudder, sweat and tears mingling on his cheeks, salty and sweet, and the bitter tang of defeat lingering in his mouth. He could see the last stars of the night pricking the sky through the heavy awning of the tree. Unwilling, he traced the path of Eärendil the Mariner across the sky until he faded into the West, returning to Aman, to the tower upon the shores of the sea wherein his wife awaited him.

He spat a mouthful of bile over the edge of the talan, cursing as he felt the blankets pull away from him.

It was getting harder; harder to believe that even hatred could right the world.

Silently, he wept until he fell asleep again.

TBC.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~


End file.
